Remember Me
by soulglo
Summary: Set in about 10 years time give or take, Santana is desperate to find out the truth behind Brittany's 'death'. The first chapter is just setting the scene. I know there's quite a few mistakes, never using Notepad again..
1. Chapter 1

**__**Santana Lopez stamped out her cigarette in the pouring rain on a non-descript Tuesday, stood outside a decrepit old Chinese takeaway, and wondered where the fuck it had gone wrong. She lit another cigarette sheltered under a tram shelter, and swore when the rain put it out and the wind caught her skirt and raised it above the level of her stockings. The builders across the sheet shouted lewdly at her, horrible words which caught in her hair, trailing her down 48th Street. She swore at them, at the rain, at San Francisco, at her past, empty present and blank, bleak future.

San Franciso was supposed to have been the best thing ever to have happened to her; on her 19th birthday her parents had presented her with the plane tickets and apartment lease as if it were the best gift she could ever have recieved. She needed it at the time, needed to leave Ohio and her old life behind, it was to be her fresh start. You may even find yourself, her father had said, as if finding oneself was as easy as a move away from the life and experiences that had thus far defined you. As if it weren't failed relationships, failed studies, failed job applications, failed job placements, a failure to move on. But she was just a single cell in the lifeblood of a city full of the lost,  
>and her presence blended so far in to the thousands of other twenty-somethings who were trying to discover their true identity, until she was just a flake of ash dropping from the cigarette San Francisco held in its mouth, falling to the ground and shattering like the illusion of happiness to be found on her voyage of self-discovery. Just another lesbian in San Francisco.<p>

Her friends had all grown up and moved on; Quinn to Florida with her husband to start a family, Tina and Mike to England where they were performing on the West End, Mercedes to Pennsylvania with her husband persuing his footballing career with the Pittsburgh Steelers, Artie to L.A where he was working on his next feature film, and Puck was touring Europe with his band. Blaine, Kurt, Rachel and Sam had all gone to New York, where all but Sam had created a successful career in performing. Sam was primarily a youth worker, but he ran a small local gym in Queens too. Only Finn had stayed in Ohio, but Santana could not even find solidarity with him - his life as the football coach at McKinley High was one he found fulfilling and worthwhile, whereas hers languished behind in self-pity and what felt like a slow, particular kind of rot.

She didn't like to think of Brittany, but did so every day. Her face was all she saw in the period of drift between sleep and wake, and every smile she ever saw she immediately compared to Brittany's, every laugh she ever heard, every kiss she had received and ever would, and every face she ever glanced at. On her morning walk to work at the restaurant, the cars would scream past her and with every wave of noise, a wave of memory would sweep over her and cause her to shake and light another cigarette, trying to smoke away the nightmare of February the 15th that would stay with her forever. She could still remember it all, every detail. The long, typical highway, Brittany's laugh as she pressed the acceleration down on her beat up Lexus as hard as she could, the wind whistling through the open window and the freedom and thoughts of their Valentines weekend. She could remember telling Brittany to slow down, telling her to be careful at the intersection coming up because God knows what other cars could be there, rushing out the story of her great-uncle who had nearly died on a highway in Nevada. She could remember seeing the jack-kniefed truck ahead of her, screaming at Brittany to brake, brake, brake, BRAKE NOW! She could still see the look of blind panic spreading across Brittany's face as the brakes failed them, could still feel the last, desperate grasp of her hand as the truck sped ever closer and then how the impact broke them apart forever.

Closure was never an option. It had been obvious Brittany's parents hadn't approved of her relationship with Santana, and had blamed the Glee club for their daughters sexuality. In fact, though none were taken too seriously, they had threatened to move Brittany away from Ohio for good and give her a fresh start. Not a single person Santana knew had been invited to Brittany's funeral. She guessed it had been a family affair, a small funeral, as if the sadness would be lessened the smaller a deal over her death there was. Nobody had even seen her parents after the accident, and shortly after their old home was sold on, a new family living there, and many did not question it, could not imagine what they must have gone through. Brittany deserved so much more, and Santana had run from her memory and the terrifying reality and pain of loving unconditionally.  
>Now, here in the life she has made, Santana pushed open the door of her apartment and threw her keys onto the mail table. The movement sent a small envelope flying off the surface, and, curious, she bent down to pick it up. It had been hastily addressed and sealed, and the stamp had been placed on at a 45 degree angle, the corners slightly bent. She tore it open,<br>and read the note inside -  
>'<em>Santana,<em>  
><em>I got a call from Finn earlier, and he said that there was a kid he coached who was talking about his cousin who was a cheerleader ten years ago, Brittany. He said when he had commented how terrible it was about her, the kid looked confused and asked what he meant. When Finn explained, the kid told him that he had seen Britt a couple of years ago in Wisconsin at a family wedding, and then they went out to play.<em>  
><em>I don't have the details for you, but I can recommend the white pages - her dad was a stonemason.<em>  
><em>Sorry this has been abrupt, and sorry I couldn't be of more help to you. I also apologise if this has been a terrible mistake, but I know you would rather I had told you.<em>  
><em>I hope all is well with you, we must catch up soon, when I'm not so busy.<em>  
><em>Love, Rachel<em> x'  
>Santana's heart leapt and hammered inside her chest. What was going on? She knew she had to find out. Maybe, had she gained any level of closure she would leave well enough alone, but her wounds were still open and bleeding, the worst this endeavour could do would be pour a little salt on them, and what did that matter? The most important thing in Santana's life was - is - Brittany, and that would always be the case. She went to her laptop and ordered a copy of the Wisconsin white pages. The future had lit up like a firework in front of her, and the sparks danced around as she closed her eyes and imagined what might be.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

She couldn't sleep that night. Not just because of the damp smell of mould in her bedroom, but because her mind was going at what felt like the speed of light, all these thoughts and ideas flying about her head, each one to do with Brittany. She struggled for a moment - what had actually happened to her after the accident? The impact came and wrenched her hand from Brittany's, and she was hurled up into the air and hit the cold, hard highway with a bump and a shattering of bone. Her legs felt as if they were on fire, so she hauled herself using only her arms over to a small huddle on the other side of the burning lorry. Looking back, nobody knows how she found the strength of body and of mind, but she made it over and grabbed at Brittany's arms, shaking her again and again as if that would wake her up. She shut her eyes and was transported back -

_"No. No! Shit, no, please." The words Santana spoke got louder and louder, until she was screaming at Brittany - "Wake up! Move! Please. Baby. Please." She pulled her eyelids back and tried to check for dilation. But it was a beautiful night, the stars above them shone brightly and they reflected in Brittany's gorgeous pale blue eyes, which were unmoving. Santana sobbed now, and lay across Brittany's torso as if to protect her from any further dangers, surrounded by the sparks raining down from the burning lorry and lit up by the oddly bright waning moon. Help, somebody, help. Help her. She was still breathing, Santana felt, but she was bleeding from a head injury, and aside from the slow, weakened rise and fall of her chest Brittany wasn't moving. She pushed herself away from Brittany and held her hand under the blanket of night sky, and shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to be where Brittany was._

Sorting through her memories in her mind, Santana realised that she had fallen unconscious before she had seen Brittany die. She was unconscious for days longer in hospital; the exertion of finding Brittany after the crash having taken a lot out of her, her battered body needing rest. Her friends and Mr. Shue had been told Brittany died at the scene of a haemorrhage, and her family had taken her body away from Lima and supposedly to their traditional graves near Gildersleeve Mountain. Again, she thought how nobody she had known was invited to the funeral, not even Artie, whom Brittany's parents had approved of and 'loved as if he were their own'. She was Britt's girlfriend, for God's sake, she had made her happy, and her parents couldn't even look past their own selfish idealism and realise that Brittany would have hated the idea of none of the friends she loved and cherished could be present at her funeral. And if she was still on this earth in Wisconsin, she wouldn't have been able to bear leaving her friends alone with no knowledge of her state.

Strange, the whole thing was strange. Santana had a brainwave then, suddenly and out of the blue. She knew Brittany had suffered a head injury as definite, and she rolled out of bed, stumbled over to her laptop and googled implications of a head injury sustained . There it was. 'Persons will experience heightened risk of amnesia and memory problems.'

"Oh my God." Santana spoke out-loud, her voice shaking a little. Shit. Shit. Fucking hell.

"Where are my cigarettes?" She was talking to herself.

"The first sign of madness." She said and laughed a little. Maybe I am crazy, she thought, but who isn't? And who wouldn t be in my position?

"Fuck."_ Stop it_, she thought._ You're getting carried away_. Hope is the deadliest of all emotions, in a way, when it is destroyed you're lost, you can't do anything to stop the come down. It's like a drug, taking you so high and making your forget all your inhibitions, carrying you away from reality and actuality.

The Wisconsin white pages couldn't come fast enough. She would book her time off from the restaurant in the morning.


End file.
